


The Outside World Starts to Fade Away

by ionsquare



Series: The Canvas Was Free [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family Bonding, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Road Trips, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionsquare/pseuds/ionsquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, kiddo, you're officially graduated," his dad says, smiling proudly. "What're you going to do now?"</p><p>"I want to go on a road trip," Stiles says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Outside World Starts to Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GotTheSilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/gifts).



> Kara gave me an excellent prompt for a tropes meme I've been doing recently: "Road trip, Derek/Stiles + the Sheriff." And this is the end result. Not your typical road trip, by the way. ;)
> 
> Title from _How to Kill a Rock Star_ by Tiffanie DeBartolo; full quote in the end notes.

Somehow, Stiles survives high school to graduate it; honestly, it's a miracle he did.

"Well, kiddo, you're officially graduated," his dad says, smiling proudly. "What're you going to do now?"

Stiles looks over at Scott and Allison, heads bent close, sharing a secret smile, and he's happy to see them smiling together again.

"I want to go on a road trip," Stiles says.

The sheriff blinks. "Really expected you to ask for a new car-" he puts his hands up, gripping Stiles' shoulders. "Joking."

Stiles exhales, relieved, laughing shakily.

"Yeah, but, road trip. I want you to come with me."

"Stiles, I have work, and-"

"I want to do this, with you. I want us to do this."

His dad is quiet for a long time, and Stiles can tell he's really thinking it over, rubbing his chin in deliberation.

"Okay, let's do it."

*

His dad borrows an old Chevy S-10 from one of his deputies ("I'm not using it, sir, and she's still got life in her yet," he had said). It's cherry red, and there's a giant dent in the passenger side door -- it's perfect. They pack up a cooler full of plenty of water, Coke, sandwiches, and trail mix.

"Trail mix is the perfect road trip snack."

"But not ten bags, Dad."

"I'm not saying anything about the Slim Jims and pop rocks, so let me have my trail mix."

Scott and Melissa stop by to see them off. Scott reminds them to be careful of surrounding packs seeing as how Stiles and his dad pretty much have true alpha scent all over them.

"Seriously, dude, trust your gut. And call me, for anything," Scott says.

"I know, I know," Stiles placates. "We'll be careful."

Scott studies him for a moment, considering something, but he doesn't say anything and Stiles refuses to leave with any unanswered questions lingering between them.

"What, dude?"

"Nothing." Scott shrugs.

"Don't fucking -- Scott, just say it."

"Are you doing this because of... because of Derek?"

Stiles sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I'm serious, Stiles." Scott frowns. "You've been waiting for him to come back--"

"You make it sound like I've locked myself in my bedroom, refusing to leave until my one true love comes home."

"One true love?"

"You know what I mean."

"I really, really don't, but just -- I don't want you to end up disappointed if Derek is a reason this road trip is happening, and the end result isn't what you want."

Stiles stares down at his sneakers, eyes burning, and he steels his nerves before looking back at Scott.

"See you when I get back."

Scott pulls Stiles into a long, lingering hug, and Stiles goes with it, and it feels nice. When they pull away they awkwardly pat one another on the back, laughing and shoving one another as they walk to the truck.

Melissa cries, hugging Stiles and the sheriff, together, and Stiles suddenly remembers something, running back in the house.

Stiles waves until he can't see Scott and Melissa anymore, swallowing back a lump of emotion; he really is going to miss Scott.

"We'll be back soon, kiddo," his dad says, patting his shoulder. "What'd you forget?"

Stiles paperclips the picture to his visor, tracing her face, smiling.

"Couldn't forget Mom."

*

They're near the California-Arizona line when they make their first stop for a bathroom break in Blythe. Stiles picks through the brochures, finds one for a local gun museum, showing it to his dad when they head back to the truck.

"Looks educational." His dad lifts an eyebrow. "Wanna go?"

"Yeah, look-" Stiles points at the different pictures of guns, some are old Winchester rifles, which he knows his dad likes.

They spend about two hours at the museum, and it isn't that big, but it's pretty damn cool, and instead of looking at the guns, he looks at his dad -- smiling.

Stiles calls this road trip a success already.

*

They don't stop anywhere in Arizona. It's a bitch of a drive, and Stiles and his dad share the driving. Stiles was supposed to wake his dad up two-hundred miles ago, but he can't remember the last time his dad slept this much.

Stiles glances up at his mom's smiling face, grateful they didn't stop in Arizona.

The Grand Canyon Adventure was their last family vacation.

It still hurts.

*

"We're in Roswell, New Mexico," Stiles says gleefully.

"We're in Roswell, New Mexico," the sheriff sighs heavily.

They get lunch at Fat's Burritos, because it's the one place that isn't covered in alien memorabilia, and well, aliens kind of drive his dad bonkers.

"I'm not saying there isn't a possibility of life beyond us not existing," the sheriff says, "But the aliens will not be neon green. That's all I'm sayin'."

Stiles buys his dad a neon green alien mask, because he's clearly the best son ever.

They're next stop in New Mexico is the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. They decide to hike on their own, making sure not to hike places where they'll have problems getting back, but Stiles spends most of the time making sure his dad doesn't have a heart attack. The caverns are unlike anything Stiles has ever seen.

"Who knew nature could be this amazing and dangerous?" Stiles says, awed.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," his dad whispers, staring at an array of stalactites above them.

His dad decides to take a break, waving Stiles off.

"Go explore some more, I'll be fine, Stiles."

Stiles goes on another hike. He hikes for two solid hours, panting and sweating his ass off, and he feels it in his chest, feels his heart pounding through the darkness inside him. Stiles hikes and hikes until he's fighting to catch his breath, hair matted to his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest, soaked and smelling musky. He takes a long drink of water, pouring a little over his head. He stands back to take in the view, and only now realizes that he's crying, crushing the water bottle in his hand.

He screams.

He screams until his throat is raw.

He screams for his mom, for his dad, Scott and Allison who share the burden with him, this burden that'll never leave them. He screams louder for Erica and Boyd, the injustice of them dying too soon, too young. He screams for anyone who has died because of fucking Beacon Hills and all the supernatural shit that comes with it.

He screams for Derek, but he stops, taking a deep, gasping breath, eyes wide as he looks around. There are tears streaming down his face, he stinks of dried sweat, and he screams.

It's near park closing time by the time he finds his way back to his dad, and his everything is exhausted. When his dad looks at him, it's like he knows, and he doesn't say anything. He just hugs Stiles, one hand cradling the back of Stiles' head, and Stiles hasn't felt this safe in a long time.

*

They stop in San Antonio, Texas, because his dad is a history buff, and has watched too many History Channel war documentaries for his own good.

"It's the Alamo, Stiles."

Stiles shakes his head, laughing, and he's just happy to see his dad excited about something.

The Alamo is, to be perfectly honest, lackluster and a little boring, to say the least, but Stiles chills out, walking away from the tour group so his dad can really enjoy himself.

His dad buys him a beer after dinner, and Stiles stares at him, because his dad is breaking the law.

"I'm buying it, and I'm allowing you to drink it," his dad tells him. "Now drink your beer."

They wind up in a place called Nacogdoches, Texas, and Stiles laughs until he cries because it kind of sounds like NachoDouche. He texts Scott a picture of the sign, and gets a quick reply: _OMG UR IN NACHODOUCHE!_ (Yeah, Scott's definitely his best friend.)

Stiles lets his dad order a steak for dinner.

"Consider it my thank you for the beer," Stiles says, "but this is your last steak, maybe ever."

"You're far too kind, son," his dad mumbles around a mouthful of steak and potatoes.

*

In Shreveport, Louisiana, everything turns upside down.

At a farmer's market, Stiles is holding a basket full of pecans, almonds, too much fruit to count, and a few vegetables when he runs into Derek Hale. He's eating a fresh strawberry, and there's juice running down his cheek, and Derek Hale is standing in front of him.

Derek, because Stiles can't stop staring at him, looks fucking beautiful. Stiles assumes it's the return to his beta form that makes Derek look smaller, skinnier, but there's still a well-defined definition of muscle, he still has a beard, only it's a little fuller now. Stiles always liked Derek's hands, and they still look like they'd feel good on Stiles' body.

"Stiles, I found some carrots -- Derek?"

"Hello, sir," Derek says with a nod.

He still hasn't acknowledged Stiles, but he's ignoring that for the sake of still drinking in the sight of him.

His dad looks between them, clearing his throat.

"Stiles, I'm going to... keep having a look around."

"Okay, dad," Stiles says, barely above a whisper, eyes still staring straight ahead.

Neither of them say anything even after his dad leaves, and Stiles doesn't want to, because if he says anything Derek might leave, and he really doesn't want him to leave. Not yet, not ever.

"There's a lady who makes homemade peppermint tea," Derek finally says. "Do you want to try some?"

So, Stiles has peppermint tea with Derek Hale, at a farmer's market in Shreveport, Louisiana.

"What are you doing in Shreve--"

"I missed you," Stiles cuts in.

Derek stares at Stiles' profile, swallowing thickly.

"I graduated three and a half weeks ago," Stiles begins. "You've been gone nearly a year, and I didn't expect that, you know? I thought you'd come back after a few weeks. We got a letter from Cora; did you know she keeps in touch? She does. She told us that she has no idea if or when she'll ever come back, but that she's enjoying Vancouver. She's trying to integrate herself in this pack; that's what her last letter said. She keeps in touch, Derek."

Derek takes a sip of tea.

"Aren't you going to fucking say anything?"

"What do you want me to say, Stiles?"

Stiles slams a hand on the table, and Derek doesn't even react, just takes another sip of tea.

"We miss you," Stiles grinds out.

"Thought it was just you who missed me?"

"Oh, you have a sense of humor suddenly?"

Derek stands up.

"If you're going to berate me this whole time then I'm leaving."

Stiles stands up too, and no, no. He doesn't want him to leave, he doesn't--

"I don't -- I don't want you to leave." Stiles looks away from him. "Not again."

"Come on," Derek says, taking Stiles' hand. "No, leave it here. Nina will watch it."

"Wait, who's Nina? I fought hard for those strawberries." Stiles lets himself get pulled away by Derek, mostly because Derek is holding his hand, and it feels nice.

"Nina makes the tea, and don't worry about your strawberries."

Stiles links his fingers with Derek, and it makes Derek stop, looking down at their hands. Stiles steps closer, letting go of Derek's hand to slide his arms around him, nose pressed into his chest, breathing in and out slowly. Derek grips a hand in Stiles' hair, holding him gently, and Stiles can feel his chest expanding as he breathes, and he thinks Derek might be reminding himself of Stiles's scent. He brushes his nose along Derek's collarbone while Derek lightly scratches his back.

"I feel like I've missed you for twenty-nine years," Stiles murmurs.

Derek squeezes the back of Stiles' neck.

They talk for at least four hours, about everything. They both look and feel a little better for doing so; it's a big load off both their shoulders, Stiles thinks. He listens to Derek explain why he and Cora needed to leave, needed a change. He listens to Derek explain that them leaving had nothing to do with any of them, but that they needed to get to know each other again, and Derek wanted to give Scott the space he deserved to figure out how to be his own alpha.

"If he needs me, for anything, I'll help," Derek says. "I told him that before I left."

"Do you... want him to be your alpha?"

"Honestly? I'd rather be a friend."

"Look at you-" Stiles grins. "All grown up."

Derek shoves him. "Shut up."

They get quiet again, Stiles pulling at blades of grass; Derek brought them to the park near the market. They've been sitting under an oak tree for four hours, and Stiles doesn't want to leave.

"I better get back to my dad."

"Five more minutes," Derek says.

Stiles smiles. "Five more minutes."

*

"Wait, what? You're staying in Shreveport for how long?"

Stiles looks back at Derek and his dad, sitting in the booth of the diner where they're having breakfast.

"'Til the end of the month," Stiles says.

"Why?!" Scott exclaims. "What the hell, dude?"

"I gotta go." Stiles hangs up fast, and he'll get reamed out for that later.

Derek lives and works on a ranch owned by a man named Hank Williams, and Stiles' dad has never looked so amused in all his life. Derek likes the solitude, he tells them both, and that Hank lets him live in one of the cabins as long as he does enough work. He also helps out with the farmer's market every weekend, and Stiles thinks Derek Hale is really fucking hot wearing chaps over his jeans.

Hank and Stiles' dad bond almost instantly, letting him and Stiles rent out the other cabin for a month.

Halfway through the month, Stiles comes to the not-obvious-realization that he's kind of, maybe, falling in love with Derek. (Maybe he's falling in love with Derek all over again, Stiles is confused with himself.)

Their first kiss is at a bonfire; Hank's wife is celebrating her fortieth birthday.

He and Derek take a walk around, eating melted, gooey s'mores when Derek takes the first step, literally, pushing Stiles against the fence, licking right into his mouth. Stiles clings to him, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer, arms wrapping around his neck. Stiles hasn't been kissed a lot, but he knows the definition of passion, desperation, and he feels it right now in the way Derek's mouth moves against his, lips pulling whimpers from him. He sighs against Derek's mouth, moaning when Derek sucks on his lower lip, biting back at Derek's mouth.

Derek rests his forehead to Stiles', panting, hands braced against Stiles' neck.

"I hate you for coming here," Derek whispers, "I hate you for finding me."

Stiles reaches up to grip his wrists, but Derek turns and walks away from him.

"I hate that I love you," Stiles whispers back.

*

Stiles is eighteen years old.

He's eighteen years old and he's going to lose his virginity.

He's on his hands and knees, sweating and breathing harshly and Derek's fingers are working him open and Stiles will never feel anything like this ever again. In this moment, he is out of his body, out of his mind, and Derek is kissing the backs of his thighs, and he loves him, oh god -- he loves Derek Hale.

Stiles listens, waits, as Derek rolls a condom on, hand slick with lube as he strokes himself, and Stiles watches him.

"You're beautiful," Stiles murmurs.

Derek leans down kissing Stiles, and when he pushes inside Stiles, he never wants Derek to let him go. He doesn't want to leave in five days, he wants to stay here, right here, in this moment and all the moments with Derek.

Stiles cries out, hands fisting the sheet under him, and Derek thrusts in harder, deeper, and Stiles likes the broken way Derek moans his name. He's doing that to Derek, making him sound like this, feel like this. They kiss sloppily, Derek holding his chin as he breathes open-mouthed against Stiles' cheek, thrusting harder and harder, eager to find release--

And Stiles finds it first, bright spots dancing in his vision, and his brain shuts down, thrusting back against Derek, slow and steady.

Derek holds on to Stiles' hands, squeezing Stiles' fingers with his as he comes, slumping on Stiles' back, pressing him down into the mattress.

Sated and still sweaty, they relax, enjoy the space each of them take up. Stiles sits against the headboard, with Derek lying at the opposite end of the bed.

"We're leaving in five days."

Derek nods. "I know."

"Please come with us."

"Stiles--"

"After this? You're still going to stay, here, after this?" Stiles feels the hurt in his bones, blinking back tears.

Derek remains quiet, like always, Stiles thinks bitterly.

*

"Do we need to talk?" His dad asks the next morning.

"I'm fine," Stiles says, pushing his food around his plate.

"Do I need to talk to Derek?"

"God, Dad, no. No. I'm fine. We're fine."

Sure, he's fine.

*

Derek isn't there when him and his dad pack up their truck; he's not there when they say goodbye to Hank and his wife; he's not there when Stiles refuses to leave until he comes back.

"Stiles, we need to go."

"I am not leaving. I need to punch him, or slap him, or kick him in the balls, at least."

"You're not going to do any of that," his dad says, "but we really need to go."

His dad almost has to shove Stiles in the truck, pointing a finger at him through the glass, and Stiles just glares back. When they get to the end of the driveway, Derek is there, holding a small basket in his hands.

Stiles barrels out of the truck, stomping up to Derek, throwing his arms around him.

"I hate you," Stiles whispers viciously.

Derek buries his nose into Stiles' shoulder, closing his eyes.

"I know," Derek mumbles.

Derek pulls back, opening the lid of the basket.

"Strawberries," Stiles whispers, and he starts to laugh. He laughs long and loud, he laughs until he can't breath, stumbling and falling down on his knees. Derek goes with him, wrapping Stiles up in his arms, and Stiles clings to him and never wants to let go.

"Please come with us," Stiles begs.

Derek hugs Stiles until he stops crying.

When Stiles is back in the truck, window rolled down and holding Derek's hand, he continues to beg, plead.

"Stiles, stop--"

"I love you."

Derek blinks.

His dad groans, climbing out of the truck.

"Stiles, that's not fair."

"I love you, Derek. You can't make me stop caring about you, missing you, thinking about... loving you."

Derek shakes his head.

"This is exactly why I can't come back."

Stiles lets go of Derek's hand, shoving him away to roll the window up.

"Let's go, Dad," Stiles yells, not looking Derek.

His dad, thankfully, remains quiet as he climbs back in the truck.

“Good to see you again, Derek.”

“Just go, Dad,” Stiles bites out.

Derek follows the truck, and Stiles wants to make twenty dog jokes about it.

"I'm sorry, Stiles!" Derek shouts.

Of course those would be his last words, Stiles thinks.

*

It's been two months since Stiles and his dad have been back, and the ache that is Missing Derek Hale sits like an anvil in Stiles' chest. When they got back Stiles found an acceptance letter from UCLA in the mailbox, so at least he has something to look forward to in the future.

His dad's at work and Stiles has been camped out on the couch all day watching _Dance Moms_ ; he doesn't get it.

"Come in!" He yells when he hears the knock on the door.

Derek Hale steps into the living room, and Stiles swears that one day Derek's going to give him a heart attack.

"You left this," Derek says, handing him an envelope.

It's the picture of his mom.

"You drove all the way to Beacon Hills to give this back to me?" Stiles asks, brow furrowed.

"And to tell you-" Derek steps closer, tentatively. "Me too."

"What?" Stiles is pretty sure he knows what Derek means, but he needs to hear it.

"Me too," Derek says, "I love you, too."

"I hate you." Stiles jumps on him, arms and legs wrapping around him, clinging to him like an octopus.

"No, you don't."

"No-" Stiles shakes his head, smiling. "I don't."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr; archiving here for reasons. The best part of watching people reblog this was seeing how people tagged it; apparently I made quite a few people cry. (I made myself cry, too.)
> 
> My undying love and thanks, as always, to [Mel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblo/) for looking this over. <3
> 
> [Me on Tumblr](http://ionsquare.tumblr.com/), come say hi! :)
> 
> "I feel like I've missed you for twenty-nine years," is inspired by the song, _29 Years_ by The National. It popped up on Pandora as I writing this. Many feelings.
> 
> Full quote:  
>  _“The concept of time, as it’s commonly understood by normal people with normal jobs and normal goddamn lives, doesn’t exist on the road. The nights spread out like the dark, godforsaken highways that distinguish them, and the days run together like Thanksgiving dinner smothered in gravy. You never really know where you are or what time it is, and **the outside world starts to fade away.** It’s cool.”_


End file.
